


Diplomatic Nightmare

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Series: Dragon!John [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF!John, Dragons, Gen, John is a dragon, Poor Mycroft, Secret Identity, everyone always underestimates John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 21:36:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock was all smug glee as he walked in, and Mycroft sighed inwardly, and wondered what his brother thought to gloat over this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diplomatic Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> _Since everyone asked for it... here you go._

**Diplomatic Nightmare**

Mycroft was in his office when his brother burst in, Dr Watson walking in behind him. Mycroft had known he was on his way, of course – security had alerted him when Sherlock was on his way up – but all the same, he wondered what had brought Sherlock to see him.

Sherlock was all smug glee as he walked in, and Mycroft sighed inwardly, and wondered what his brother thought to gloat over this time.

“Mycroft.”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft returned. He frowned, observing Dr Watson. On the one previous occasion when Sherlock had invaded Mycroft’s office, the man had shuffled in apologetically, staying in the background as Sherlock ranted and raved. But now, John  was – there was no other way to put it – _prowling_ around Mycroft’s office, looking curiously at the books on the bookshelves and acting as though he belonged there. The changed behaviour was vaguely perturbing, out of character as it was.

“What brings you here?” Mycroft asked, keeping one eye on John even as he met Sherlock’s gaze.

Sherlock smirked.

“You haven’t heard, then.” A flash of delighted triumph. “Apparently your people aren’t as good as you think they are, if they haven’t already brought it to your attention.”

Mycroft frowned at Sherlock.

“Haven’t heard what? Really, Sherlock, must you speak in riddles?”

Sherlock just cocked an eyebrow, as though to say, _‘Really? You’re accusing_ me _of speaking in riddles? How hypocritical of you.’_

“Is that a solid gold tie pin?” John asked, leaning forward in interest. His face split into a wide, toothy grin, with far too many teeth showing, and Mycroft froze, a thrill of recognition (and, although he would never admit to it, fear) running down his spine. “It is, isn’t it? Nice.”

“It was a gift,” Mycroft said, through a suddenly dry throat. “From a dragon clan, actually. I understand that solid gold is quite highly prized among dragons, and such a gift is therefore a sign of high esteem.”

“Oh, it is,” John agreed amiably, suddenly back to being the ordinary, unremarkable man Mycroft had always taken him to be. Mycroft cursed himself for falling for appearances. He sat back, and re-evaluated his perceptions of John.

Sherlock and John were both eyeing him knowingly, tiny smiles on their faces, and Mycroft knew that there was no point in pretending he hadn’t been deceived by Dr Watson’s facade. The question was, did he pretend anyway for the sake of dignity, or admit that he had been taken in by the deception and use the opportunity to gather information?

Sherlock and John exchanged glances, one smug, one amused, and Mycroft decided on the latter.

“You’re a dragon,” Mycroft said flatly. John and Sherlock both grinned, and Mycroft could see how much both of them were enjoying this.

“I am, yeah. Didn’t any of your people tell you that?”

“Careless of them,” Sherlock put in. “After all, if they missed John’s really quite obvious blood connection to the Pen Draig clan, what else might they have missed?”

Mycroft froze for a second time.

“The… Pen Draig clan?” he asked carefully. Oh, heads were going to _roll_ for this. A powerful connection like that was _basic_ intelligence, which should have been gathered during the first background search Mycroft had ordered. The fact that it had been missed, then and during all the subsequent research into John’s history and activities, and Mycroft had been in ignorance for all this time…

 _Mortifying_ was the only word that adequately described the situation.

“The Pendragon’s queen is my second cousin,” John agreed cheerfully, that vaguely serpentine grin reappearing. “Although I’m clanless, myself.”

“Clanless?” Mycroft echoed,  and some of his surprise must have shown through, because Sherlock smirked, and John looked amused again.

But all dragons had clans, except for… golden… males…

Ah.

Mycroft resisted the urge to close his eyes, but couldn’t control his pained expression. The only dragons as powerful as queens were the so-called ‘king dragons,’ who shunned the traditional clan hierarchy, and preferred to live roaming lives without answering to any authority. Like queens, they were gold in colour, and capable of producing queen offspring. Most importantly however, they held an equally important social role within dragon society, and could assert their dominance over any lesser dragon if they so chose.

Mycroft thought back frantically through his interactions with John – a king dragon with blood ties to the most powerful dragon clan in the northern hemisphere – and winced perceptibly.

“I see,” Mycroft said, with as much dignity as was possible, under the circumstances.

John was biting back giggles, and Sherlock wasn’t even trying to restrain his smirk.

“Do cease your gloating, Sherlock, it’s unbecoming,” Mycroft said austerely, and turned to John. “I do hope I haven’t caused you any offence, Dr Watson.”

“You mean between kidnapping me, and treating me like Sherlock’s pet hobby?” John asked, deliberately mild. “Whatever could have given you that idea?” Then, before Mycroft could apologise, he added, “Actually, it’s been more entertaining than anything else, really.”

And that was just insult to injury, wasn’t it.

Meeting Sherlock’s eyes, Mycroft knew that his little brother had well and truly won this round.

“I’m glad to hear it. Sherlock, Dr Watson, while I’ve appreciated our little discussion–” Sherlock snorted at Mycroft’s words, “-I’m afraid I have a meeting in a few minutes. Would you be so good as to show yourselves out?”

John bid Mycroft a polite goodbye, and Sherlock snorted again and made a derogatory remark, but they mercifully left Mycroft’s office now that their purpose there was done.

Mycroft eyed his bottom desk drawer for a moment, then pressed the intercom button on his desk.

“Miss Smythe,” he said into it, “would you cancel this afternoon’s meeting, please?”

Mycroft waited until he received confirmation, and then pulled out the emergency bottle of scotch he kept in the bottom drawer of his desk, contemplating exactly how much this new information changed his understanding of the political landscape, and how much of a misstep he might have made in his diplomatic dealings with the dragons. If John chose to tell the other clans of how he, a king dragon, had been treated with such disrespect by a senior official of Her Majesty’s government…

Mycroft drank his scotch, and fervently hoped that such a thing never occurred.


End file.
